


Faith

by rawnbones4 (iKain2)



Series: Hearth and Home: Domestic Viking Husbands [4]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Eivor Needs A Hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, M/M, Major Spoilers for Suthsexe Arc, Not Beta Read, Tarben POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:55:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27695176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iKain2/pseuds/rawnbones4
Summary: After Suthsexe, Jarl Sigurd of Ravensthorpe has returned to his waiting throne. However, things go awry during the celebration.
Relationships: Eivor/Tarben (Assassin's Creed), Male Eivor/Tarben (Assassin's Creed)
Series: Hearth and Home: Domestic Viking Husbands [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2021420
Comments: 3
Kudos: 124





	Faith

**Author's Note:**

> Eivor looks so small next to Sigurd in cutscenes.

“Born of gods, is who I am. A Lord of War! A Roman Mars! I know who I am, I know my destiny! And you will not hinder me!”

Sigurd’s angry shout echoed in the longhouse, crackling powerfully through the abrupt hush that fell over the dining hall. From where he had been eating next to Petra and Wallace, Tarben stared as the furious Jarl loomed over his brother, finger shoved into his chest. Sheer, unbridled fury radiated out from the red-haired man as he stepped closer to Eivor with a murderous snarl twisting at his mouth.

Even from where he was sitting, Tarben could see Eivor’s full-bodied flinch as he seemed to curl into himself, eyes wide in surprise. His head had turned away slightly, as if he was expecting to be struck from above. Unease churned in Tarben’s stomach as his hand tightened on his carving knife, the handle creaking dangerously in his grip; Sigurd was the Jarl of Ravensthorpe, yes, but if he hurt Eivor, not even the threat of imminent death would keep him from resorting to the violence he tried so hard to put behind him.

When Sigurd realized that the entire hall was staring at the two of them, his arm lowered. He looked vaguely ill as his gaze turned towards the floor.

“Brother?” Eivor’s question was gentle in its delivery, though he did not move a single muscle.

“Forgive me. I am faint.” Sigurd rubbed at his eyes with his hand, turning his back to Eivor and the civilians of Ravensthorpe as he stalked towards the entrance. “Tired of the day and all that has passed. I need air.”

As Sigurd left the longhouse and the chatter began to pick up again, Tarben was all but ready to head over to his lover, but paused with he saw Randvi speak to the man. What they discussed was lost to the noises of men and women eating as Eivor looked out towards the door for a moment, nodded slowly, and then strode out purposefully.

Tarben glanced at Petra and Wallace, who simply shrugged their shoulders at him.

As the night wore on and the men and women of Ravensthorpe filtered back into their own homes for the night, Tarben stalled for as long as he could, staying behind to help clean up the longhouse and take stock of what food remained after the feast. At some point, he saw Sigurd returning, mumbling to himself as he made for the map room where his wife was, but Tarben did not see nor hear Eivor.

When there was little left for him to do and no more excuses to give, Tarben made his way back to his bakery, feeling a dread settling in his bones. The man was not in his usual spot by the docks nor in Hytham’s Bureau. Gunnar had shook his head when he’d asked if he’d seen Eivor and the fishmonger’s grandson hadn’t seen him pass by either. The longboat was still docked and the crew was sleeping soundly in the barracks, so it was unlikely that the man had gone far.

With a heavy heart, Tarben returned to his home. He would need to get up early to begin preparing bread for the next day, and as much as he’d like to wander around for the rest of the night, he still had a job to do. The Jarl’s generosity towards the Saxons in Ravensthorpe was strained at best – entirely unlike the warm relationship he and other non-Norse shared with Eivor – so he would rather not invite further violence nor trouble by failing to bring over the man’s morning bread.

It took a long time Tarben to fall asleep, his ears trained to listen for every creak of the door just in case Eivor did come back. He was startled from his doze when there was a loud pounding on his door.

“Tarben!” Petra sounded frantic. “Wake up!”

Tarben quickly tossed on his coat and opened the door. The hunter looked scared, which is not something usually seen on the stalwart woman’s face. “What is it? Are we being attacked?”

“No, but— it’s the Jarl.” Petra led him up the path towards the longhouse, jogging quickly. “He’s having a fit, like he’s not in his right mind. I can’t find Eivor, so Randvi’s trying to keep him from hurting anyone, but she’s only one woman, so—”

Tarben’s felt ice crawling into his veins as they ran into the longhouse. Randvi was a good woman and would not deserve being hurt by her husband, ill as he was. Sigurd’s angry howling rattled the interior as plates and mugs were thrown about.

“WHERE’S EIVOR?!” The Jarl had Randvi pulled up against him, his hands fisted in her cloak. She had a hand held over Sigurd’s, her face as pale as a sheet of paper. “I DID NOT GIVE HIM PERMISSION TO LEAVE, YOU FUCKING—”

“That’s enough!” With flint-sharp eyes glancing over at the two newcomers and immediately dismissing them, Basim appeared from a shadowy corner and grabbed Sigurd’s arm, wresting the man away from his wife. “We need to speak. Outside, now.”

Sigurd shoved past Tarben and Petra, nearly knocking over the hunter. However, when Tarben hardly moved from the force behind the shove, Sigurd turned back around, glaring at the baker with wild eyes and flared nostrils.

“And you… the Saxon’s who’s been fucking around with my brother. Tell me, how does it feel to get fucked by a glory-stealer who doesn’t know his place?”

Tarben looked at the one-armed man, his expression cold as he considered what he would do next. For someone who had lorded over Eivor earlier, he was at least a good head shorter than Tarben. He decided to say nothing, letting the moment pass as Basim tugged Sigurd further away.

Petra and Tarben hurried over, helping Randvi back up to her feet from where she had fallen. Maps and books were scattered all around the room, some torn beyond repair.

“Are you alright?” Petra adjusted Randvi’s skewed cloak with a gentle hand. Tarben grabbed the nearest handful of maps and books and set it down on the table.

“Thank you.” The woman looked uncomfortable, but her face shifted into something a little warmer as she looked at the two of them. “I did not think he would be… like this, tonight.”

“What happened?” Tarben was not usually one to intervene in the affairs between a married pair, but he was not one to sit idly by when something terrible was happening, either.

“Eivor has not returned since after the feast. My husband thought I was hiding him away or that he had left Ravensthorpe for tonight.” Randvi sighed tiredly as she started picking up other fallen things that Sigurd had thrown about in his rage. “I honestly do not know where he has gone, but if I could trouble you two for a little while longer, could you perhaps look for him? His horse is still at Rowan’s and the longboat is docked, so he couldn’t have gone far.”

“Of course.” Petra glanced at Tarben, who nodded in agreement. “We will find him and bring him back.”

As they left the longhouse, Petra looked down at the muddied ground with a sour expression. “It’s going to be difficult to find him. I may be one of the best trackers in Ravensthorpe, but if Eivor doesn’t want to be found, it will be almost impossible to find him unless he lets us. That man climbs straight up sheer cliffs and mountains as if they are just small rocks, after all.”

“We should try, at least.” Looking around, Tarben scratched at the back of his head, sorely wishing he had taken the extra few seconds to put his hair back into a bun after being woken up. After a moment, he spotted a familiar white wolf-dog padding around a nearby bush. An idea popped into his head. “Could we use Dwolfg to follow his scent?”

Petra followed his gaze, her mouth twisting into a smile. “Yes, that might work. Dwolfg! Here boy!”

The wolf-dog looked up at the call of his name and then promptly took off in the opposite direction, a little more than a blur of white underneath the moonlight.

“W-wait, come back!” Tarben sprinted after the wolf-dog, Petra right at his heels. “Dwolfg!”

They followed the wolf-dog as far as they could through a winding path in the forest surrounding Ravensthorpe, but eventually they lost its trail after they came across a river – the wolf-dog’s tracks abruptly stopped, despite Petra’s keen eyes.

“Do… do you see anything?” Tarben breathed heavily at the sprint they had kept up for a good distance, frowning at the river.

Petra, more used to the chase, got up from her crouch and shook her head, her hands on her hips “It really is strange, the tracks just end—"

A raven’s call interrupted Petra, and the both of them immediately turned to look at the source of the sound. A bird with glossy black wings cawed at them from her perch, staring down at them with beady eyes so dark it almost blended in with the shadows of the trees.

“Synin!” Tarben felt a wave of relief overcome him at the sight of Eivor’s raven. “Can you show us to Eivor? Please?”

The bird tilted its head in a way very reminiscent of her master before taking flight.

“Tarben, wait—!”

Tarben went crashing through the trees, shoving aside branches and foliage as he pushed himself to run faster. Petra was quickly lost behind him, her voice fading into the distance.

When the forest line broke, Tarben found himself standing at an overgrown path leading up towards what was the old Ragnarsson Lookout. The raven was a dark spot against a slowly-lightening sky as the first rays of sun began to appear from beyond the hill, flying steadily towards the weathered outpost.

There, in the distance, was Eivor. The man was sitting at the very top of the lookout, facing away from them with his cloak drawn up, watching the sunrise.

A few moments later, Petra burst out from a dense bush behind him, wheezing as she caught her breath. “Gods, Tarben, at least you leave a good trail to follow— oh good, we’ve found him. So that was actually Synin, hah. Our luck still holds true, then.”

Tarben had not actually considered the possibility of that the bird may have not been Synin, but the bird had acted too much like Eivor for him to not believe it.

Petra squinted into the distance and then gave Tarben a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Hmm… well, it doesn’t look like he’s in any danger, so I’ll go and head back towards Ravensthorpe to let Randvi know. You can get back from here, right?”

“We should be fine. Thank you, Petra.” Tarben could see a dirt pathway winding down the hill in the general direction back towards the settlement, but with Eivor by his side, it was unlikely they would get lost anytime soon in this area.

Petra departed with a wave over her shoulder and Tarben started the long hike up the hill. Even from such a distance, he could see Synin land on Eivor’s shoulder, her head bobbing up and down a few times, before she took off into the air again, circling slowly. When Tarben finally made it to just where the hill was beginning to level out again, Eivor was now standing up on the bit of wood, balanced perfectly as his cloak billowed in the breeze.

“Eivor!” Tarben called out, hoping his voice would reach his lover.

Eivor turned slightly, though Tarben could not make out the expression on his face. After a moment, the man lifted a hand in greeting.

Tarben was about to call out again, but his breath caught in his throat when he saw Eivor take a step forward off the platform, arms outstretched as if they were wings. His heart stopped in his chest, time slowing down as he watched Eivor fall straight down, so graceful and beautifully executed were it not for the fact that his lover had essentially leapt to his death right in front of him.

“EIVOR! O GOD!” Despite the burn in his legs and lungs, the baker scrambled up the last of the hill, frantic. He could see it now: his heart, dead and mangled against the rocks and grass. “No, no, this cannot be, please, O God, please—”

When he got to the base of the lookout post, he didn’t see any blood splattered across the ground, nor a broken body.

Tarben nearly had a heart attack when he spotted a hay bale, along with a whole-and-alive Eivor sitting in it, picking out bits of hay from his hair and clothes.

“Hello, love. I was just about to return to—” Whatever Eivor was going to say was cut off by Tarben immediately falling to his knees and pulling him in close, his knuckles white from how hard he was gripping at his foolish lover.

“Don’t you dare do that to me.” Tarben murmured against the chilled skin of Eivor’s cheek before pulling back enough to look at him properly. The dark bruises underneath the man’s eyes and the flush over his nose was more prominent than usual, as if he had not slept at all and spent the night instead sitting out here in the cold. “I thought you had leapt to your death!”

Eivor’s eyes widened for a brief moment before his expression melted into one that was painfully soft as he reached out with his hands to cup Tarben’s face, wiping away a few tears that had appeared with his thumbs. “I didn’t realize what that looked like. I’m fine, love, no need to cry.”

Tarben sat down next to Eivor in the hay pile, feeling his strength leave him as the adrenaline faded. In one smooth movement, his lover shoved him onto his back and then laid on top of him, tucking his head into the crook of Tarben’s shoulder and neck. His fur-lined cloak covered both of them like a blanket.

“Were you here all night?” Tarben wrapped his arms tightly around Eivor, not wanting to let go at all.

“I needed some time to be alone. To think.” Eivor’s reply was muffled, but his breath was warm against his skin. “A lot has happened since Sigurd returned.”

Tarben felt an anger smoldering inside him at the mention of his lover’s brother. “If he has touched you—”

“No, no he hasn’t. He has not struck me since our younger and more foolish years, if that’s what you are asking about.” Eivor lifted his head slightly, pressing a chaste kiss against the side of his jaw. “Sigurd is… he is not well, in the mind. I am hoping time will heal him from what he suffered and turn him back into the man I call my brother, loved and cherished above most else in my life. I just wish…”

Tarben could feel the hanging thread of uncertainty that laid underneath Eivor’s words as he trailed off. He tightened his embrace when he felt a damp spot forming against the edge of his tunic collar and the bare skin of his neck.

They shared no more words, instead just curling into each other as the sun crested over the hill, bringing the light to another cold English morning. 


End file.
